


The Silent Street

by sophinisba



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Community: waymeet, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minas Tirith, Quest, over 10000 words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-19
Updated: 2006-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 15:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophinisba/pseuds/sophinisba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, Merry and Pippin explore the <em>other</em> paths of the dead, within the city of Minas Tirith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Silent Street

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Location challenge at the Waymeet community on LJ. Thanks to Dana for beta and encouragement.

_"Don't be so gloomy!" cried Pippin. "The sun is shining, and here we all are together for a day or two at least."  
-The Return of the King_, "The Last Debate"  


"And all the time you didn't realize it was the Lady Éowyn?!" Pippin shouted incredulously.

"No one else did either," Merry said, still feeling defensive and rather foolish about the whole thing himself. "And her brother and her uncle were there with us."

"_Really_, Merry, one of the loveliest ladies either of us has ever seen, and you at her side for every instant, and you mean to tell me you didn't even notice that she wasn't a man?"

"She was wearing a helmet," Merry muttered, thinking that for all that it was true the story had an air of implausibility about it.

"Yes, which of course would have kept you from noticing she had _breasts_ as you rode on the same bloody horse with her for five days." And Pippin took a disdainful puff on his pipe.

Merry frowned, but found he could not stay annoyed with Pippin for more than a few minutes at a time. "Well, you know me," he said. "I can't seem to pay much attention to any of these outlandish beauties I meet. I only have eyes for male hobbits, and impertinent young Tooks in particular."

And even as he said it, he felt it sounded quite wrong. It was Pippin he most wanted to be with and talk with, that much was true, though of course he wouldn't be content until he saw Frodo safe again. But calling Pippin an impertinent young anything, well, that didn't fit anymore. The fool of a Took was the Pippin he'd known, the one he'd helped raise and the one he'd later fallen in love with, yes. However, the hobbit who'd found him in Minas Tirith last night and brought him here to the Houses of Healing, the hobbit sitting at his side today was someone else entirely.

"I was thinking of you, you know," Merry added seriously. "I was sorry I couldn't be with you."

"All worked out for the best, it seems," said Pippin, "though nothing's for the best and nothing's worked out until we have Frodo and Sam with us again and that blasted thing destroyed. But for what it's worth, I missed you terribly as well."

They smoked for a while in silence then. Despite a strong wind, the garden was quite peaceful. Disturbingly so, Merry thought, considering all the death and destruction he and the city had seen just the day before, and knowing they were still not in any way in the clear. But there was some comfort in sitting here with Pippin, and smoking a pipe, even if he'd rather be out in the city and doing something more useful. There was a fair sun, if not very much warmth, and the grass was green and the ground soft under their feet.

Merry had been quite consumed with worry for Pippin during their separation, and even as he'd watched Théoden and Éomer and Dernhelm -- Éowyn! -- and so many others risk their lives around him, actually seen some of them die and grieved for them, he'd never ceased to think about Pippin, just as he'd never ceased to think about Frodo and Sam and whatever dark paths they might have taken in these last few weeks.

So he'd wept when Pippin found him in the street the night before, and even now, with the sun shining and the garden full of colors and with Pippin at his side, Merry had to brush a few tears from his eyes as he heard of Pippin's recent adventures, as he told of his own part in the muster of the Rohirrim and the battle of the Pelennor, and as Pippin relayed the news that Faramir had met Frodo and Sam just outside the borders of Mordor.

It was all quite strange and frightening and uncertain, being in this place, knowing the battle had been fought and won but unable to celebrate, not knowing yet what had happened to Frodo and Sam since Faramir had seen them, what could still happen in the days ahead. And Pippin's manner was something else again. For Pippin seemed to be holding something back, trying to shield him from something. And this had never happened before. Pippin, all his life, had always come to Merry when he was scared or unsure of something, and Merry had been the one to explain and to comfort to him. And now, clearly, Pippin was worried but felt it best not to lay his burdens on Merry. And the change in their rapport was as disturbing as anything else about this city, this day, the whole of this entirely implausible quest.

It wasn't that Merry had thought of Pippin as a child or a dependent before this. After all, there'd been the years of... well, years full of nights, not to mention days. Pippin had reached his flowering (as Aunt Nasturtia put it) years before most male hobbits do, and had rather insisted on Merry's _de_flowering him only a few years after that.

But that was just the thing, wasn't it. Every major step Pippin had taken before, Merry had been with him. Literally from his very first steps as a toddler, to his first steps outside the Shire as they headed into the Old Forest, Pippin had always gone to Merry for help with something new, and Merry had always given it. Even through so many ordeals in the past months, their fear for Frodo, their grief for Gandalf, Merry had always been the one to offer strength and assurance and, he'd hoped, wisdom.

Today Merry did not feel wise and did not feel strong in the least. Pippin appeared much more calm and confident than Merry felt, and Merry thought all of this quite strange and unnatural. However, there wasn't much to be done about it at the moment. And, as Pippin had pointed out, the sun was shining.

"Whatever will they say," Merry mused, "when we get home and tell them what we've been up to?" And he would go on speaking this way, would go on saying _when_ rather than _if_, would go on acting as if the outcome were certain. If Pippin meant not to speak of his fears then Merry would keep his own quiet and buried as well.

"I expect," said Pippin, "they'll not believe a word of it, but they'll be joyful enough to see our handsome faces. And we'll be joyful enough to be home again that we won't insist upon the truth of the matter. As long as the four of us understand."

Merry nodded. "That sounds like a happy ending to me."

This was a good day. Not a joyful day, not yet, but a day of respite and something like peace. And Merry felt something very like to joy when Legolas and Gimli walked across the grass and embraced the two of them. For Pippin had told him that their friends still lived, but Merry hadn't hoped to lay eyes on them again so soon.

He was dry-eyed then, truly happy to see these two friends and so full of restless energy that he insisted they walk through the garden together. Soon though he found he was quite tired, and while he himself was too proud to admit it, he was relieved when Pippin suggested they sit for a while and talk. Still he was happy, and glad to repeat his own tale again and to hear all that Pippin and Legolas and Gimli had to tell. Until Gimli mentioned the Paths of the Dead.

Merry remembered Éowyn's announcement at Dunharrow that Aragorn and his companions had gone that way; he remembered how the others had immediately come to the conclusion that they would never return. The Men had spoken grimly and thought of their own misfortune to have lost such allies, and no one had thought to comfort Merry at the loss of his dear friends. Even Éowyn herself, who might have understood, was too caught up in her own heartbreak then to pay much attention to Merry's loneliness and fear.

Merry spoke nothing of this. Pippin asked to hear more and Merry, feeling curious but uneasy, joined in. "You must tell us," he said. Still, he hoped that they wouldn't.

* * *

The Paths of the Dead. Legolas was surprised, though he knew he shouldn't be, at how immediately the Halflings fixated on those words. Gimli had spoken them with a shudder and refused to say any more about the place. But once they heard the name Merry and Pippin insisted, with a kind of nervous fascination, that they must be told the whole story.

It was no difficulty for Legolas to remember or repeat it, but once he began to speak he observed that not only the Dwarf but the Halflings too were haunted by what they'd seen, the paths they'd taken over the past few days. It mattered not that the hobbits had not traveled the Paths of the Dead themselves; all of them had seen much death and been in grave danger of dying themselves. And mortals, for all that they feared and were fascinated by death, were always reluctant to speak of it, to acknowledge it, to look it in the face. Understandable, then, that the Halflings in particular, coming from such a peaceful country, were clearly shaken, still trying to make sense of it all.

For this reason Legolas passed quickly through that part of their journey and dwelt with more detail upon their encounter with the allies of Mordor at Pelargir. And here Gimli joined in the telling, and his fear of the Shadow Host seemed less now that he was remembering in the sunshine and the open air, and not shivering in darkness by the black stone of Erech. Merry and Pippin too were caught up in the excitement of it and impressed by Aragorn's bravery.

"We ought to have gone with you," said Pippin, "and you'd have seen that hobbits can be as brave as any other race in a pinch."

"That has been seen nonetheless," said Legolas.

"Yes," said Gimli, "that we learned before ever we parted company and again when we heard of your exploits between Rauros and Isengard. Still, I am glad for your sake that you had not to pass through the Dark Door or travel the paths that we did, nor see the faces of the dead. If you had, I believe you would not look as lively and merry as we see you today."

And Pippin laughed. "Ah, but that is how we hobbits look," he said. "No matter what we've seen, we do not dwell on the darkness of it, but prefer cheerful talk and good company."

Merry had frowned as he listened to Gimli, but now he agreed, "He's right, of course. In any case, I hope none of us has ever again to see the things we did yesterday."

"That is my hope as well," said Gimli. "Even so, I believe there will be more fighting before the end, and I will not hesitate to join the battle, until our enemies are defeated and our friends out of danger."

Both Halflings nodded at this; they kept their expressions composed and their eyes focused on their visitors, but Merry shuddered very slightly, and Pippin unobtrusively slipped a hand into his cousin's and squeezed. Legolas sensed the two of them had things to discuss alone, and that Merry probably wished to lie down but would be reluctant to say so in the presence of too many warriors. So Legolas bid the hobbits farewell and Gimli, for once, seem to take his meaning without needing it to be stated out loud.

"Do come again tomorrow, if you may," said Pippin, and it was agreed that they should. Merry and Pippin went back inside then, to eat and sleep some more, as they so loved to do; and Legolas and Gimli left the Houses of Healing to make their way out of the city and seek news from the meeting of the captains.

* * *

The next morning, Merry woke Pippin by turning in his arms. It was a new arrangement for them, Merry sleeping with his back to Pippin, Pippin's right arm on top, trying to keep Merry's warm without putting on too much pressure. Merry had said he liked the warmth of it, but Pippin could tell he found it somewhat strange to have his younger cousin sheltering him from the cold and the world. It must be especially disconcerting to wake up to. That must be why he twisted so violently, and brought Pippin out of sleep with the movement.

Pippin frowned; he'd had very few chances for slow, lazy awakenings in comfortable beds in recent months, and here Merry was wrecking what could have been a very nice morning indeed. Well, and he was in love and would have been willing to forgive that much, for Merry'd had a hard time of it, and was entitled to his restiveness. Pippin rolled away and tried to think magnanimous thoughts about how good it was to have Merry with him again. But before he'd had time to get his eyes all the way open, let alone see about breakfast, Merry was out of bed, pacing, and talking about getting out of the Houses of Healing and all kinds of other unpleasantness.

"What on earth are you talking about, cousin?" said Pippin, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

"Are you listening at all, Pip? I'm saying I need to go back."

"Go back where?" Pippin sat up, still confused but fairly sure that a peaceful morning in bed was now completely out of the question.

"Well, I can't even say, can I? It's all quite blurry in my mind, that's just the problem. I don't like trying to recall something that happened a day and a half ago and seeing nothing more than mist." He waved his hands in exasperation. "It bothers me that you've got a clearer picture of it in your mind than I do."

"Only understandable, that," said Pippin, very reluctantly standing up and attempting to go to his cousin. "You'd had rather a trying day, I'd say."

"Yes, well, and that's why I need to go back now. See it with clear eyes, you know."

"Right," said Pippin. "Wouldn't you rather go in a few days though, after you've got more of your strength back?"

"You will not keep me in bed like an invalid, Pippin," Merry said in a tone of warning.

"Obviously not," Pippin sighed. "I'd like some more time in bed myself, but I've never had any hope of telling you what to do and I realize that. It's just that it's rather far, Merry, and I really don't see the..." -- he'd better not say he didn't see the point, but perhaps -- "the urgency for it."

"The urgency," said Merry, "is that we've no idea how long we have to spend in this city and when we'll be called to another battle or to Frodo's aid or who knows what. And if I leave and I never make it back to that place, I'll never be able to understand what happened."

And it would be hard to argue out of this, for Merry always was one to insist on understanding _everything_ that happened. He'd not be kept in the dark, not ever. And Pippin shook his head, thinking how naïve it had been of Frodo ever to think he could leave the Shire without Merry finding out.

"Don't shake your head at me," said Merry.

"I'm not, cousin. We'll do as you say. Let's at least get breakfast first though, and see what they can give us to take along."

So there was breakfast, and a fine breakfast it was too, with cream and sweet fruits they'd not tasted before coming to Gondor. And Pippin, again, rather wished they could linger over the meal to enjoy it more, but Merry was having none of that.

The Healers advised against Merry leaving the Houses, and before Merry could launch into a tirade, Pippin gently reminded them that they had not cared for Periain before, and that Aragorn himself had said Merry should be able to walk in the care of his friends.

Pippin did not say that he himself worried this walk might be too much for them both, for he still had not quite figured out how to say no to anything Merry wanted. He did insist on carrying both his and Merry's things, including provisions for second breakfast, in his own pack, so that Merry might walk more lightly.

To Pippin's great relief, the way was not nearly as long or as torturous as he'd remembered. Ever since Merry had proposed the little outing, Pippin couldn't stop remembering the way he'd swayed and finally collapsed on the way to the Houses of Healing. Now, of course, they were going downhill, and Merry might not have quite his old strength back, but he was more or less his own sturdy and stubborn self.

Furthermore, the streets themselves were quite changed since last Merry and Pippin had walked through them. The citizens who'd taken shelter during the siege had already come back and begun to clear away the ruin and the rubble. So the streets that had seemed quite hushed and mournful before were now bustling and full of life, and the people smiled and murmured as the Halflings passed among them. And the children, for there were a few of them about as well, were too young to know it was not polite to point and stare. Pippin would wave to them, and they would smile and wave back.

"You'll have to get used to that," he said to Merry. "They think we're something out of a storybook, you know."

Merry smiled less than Pippin did, but that was typical enough, and while Pippin hated to see the children discouraged, he thought Merry was holding up remarkably well. When he thought of the terrible state he'd found Merry in that night, it was really quite a pleasant surprise to see him so calm, even as they finally came to the place where Pippin had found his dear cousin, wandering and speaking to himself as in sleep. As in evil dreams.

Pippin stopped walking, smiled to a young lady who looked at them from out of a window.

"Go on," said Merry, "I'm not tired yet, I can keep going."

"But there's nowhere else to go to, dear, this is the place."

"The place where you found me?" said Merry, looking around, puzzled. "I don't think you're right, Pippin."

"No," Pippin insisted, "this was the place, I'm quite sure of it. I found you just next to this doorway here. Don't you remember? This is the doorway where you sat down to rest for a bit, and after that you started walking back with me again." Pippin was trying not to think of how Merry had wept in utter grief and confusion after he sat down. He wasn't sure how clear Merry's own memory of it was. "I figured you must have gone off the main street at the turning I showed you, not five minutes ago. And this last part you must have walked alone, while the others kept on toward the Citadel."

"I remember that I was alone and I was lost," said Merry, "but I don't think you can be right about the place. This street is much too bright and cheerful to be that place."

"Well, it wasn't this bright and cheerful at the time. The city was under siege, after all."

Merry shook his head. "That's not what I mean at all. I know there wouldn't have been all these people here. But I didn't feel like I was in a living city at all. I felt..."

Pippin felt a shiver pass through him and waited uneasily for Merry to finish his sentence, but instead he shook his head again, as if to dislodge something stuck.

"Furthermore," Merry said, looking at Pippin in mild frustration, "I don't understand what you mean by 'the main street.' All the streets here are far too narrow and winding and... well, and similar to each other for me to make any sense of where I am. Honestly, Pippin, you've been here what, just over a week? And most of that stuck inside the Citadel, or else cooped up in the Houses of Healing with me. How can you possibly know that was where I turned and this is where I ended up?" He paused a bit for breath, but his voice was tighter and his words faster as he went on, "And however did you find me in the first place in this maze of a city, and how did you manage to guide me back when I could barely walk? And to think, if you _hadn't_ found me when you did -- "

"It's not so complicated as all that," Pippin said with a shrug, interrupting, feeling rude and glib. But it was necessary, really. Merry was following thoughts and speculations that would do no good to either of them. "And it's not as if you would have been hopelessly lost without me. Frodo kept on for two weeks after Weathertop, didn't he now? The battle had already ended by then and the people were just starting to come out onto the streets. Someone would have found you soon enough and you'd certainly have been all right. Anyway," he added, "I found you because I had to, and there's no use dwelling on how things might have gone otherwise. All right then?"

Merry nodded, not looking satisfied in the least.

"All right then. Tell me what's wrong."

"It's just that I don't... I thought if I could come back to the place then it would become clear, but now it seems even stranger."

"What is it you remember, Merry?"

"Well, I remember I'd come through the great gate and into the city. I wasn't paying close attention, for I was weary and full of grief, but I was following the others and walking through the street. Only it didn't look like this at all. It didn't look like a street with shops and houses where people live."

"But as I said, Merry -- "

"No, you're not listening. I know there wouldn't have been people living there at the time, but I tell you I felt as if... as if I weren't in a city of living men and women at all."

"Tell me then," Pippin said softly.

"I forgot all about the battle, and the funeral procession, for I'd lost them of course. I was all alone and I'd no idea where I was, but I had some notion I was walking to my death, or perhaps that I'd died already. Which I could have done, you know, because I came so close out there, and I was close even then, with my strength fading. And I felt that I was in a tunnel leading to a tomb, and that I should have to stay there forever."

Merry was shaking his head, as if embarrassed to have thought and to be saying something so morbid. But at that moment Pippin recalled the words Merry had spoken upon being found: _Are you going to bury me?_ And Pippin shivered again, just as he had then, but wrapped his arm around his cousin in an attempt to give the warmth and reassurance that he did not himself feel.

"But it wasn't a tunnel, dear, it was this very place where I found you."

Still Merry shook his head, this time as if to say that he did not believe it.

"Merry," Pippin said hesitantly, still standing close, still holding his older cousin tight, "do you think... It's probably nonsense, but... You do know that I was among the tombs of the Stewards and Kings of Gondor, yes? That morning, while you were out on the field of battle, before you came here."

"I have no memory of this place where we're standing," said Merry. "But the tombs of Stewards and Kings... Yes, I do believe I may have been there."

"It's not possible, my dear. It's another part of the city entirely."

"Tell me what it was like then, and I'll tell you if it's the place I remember."

"It's... They call it Rath Dínen. That means the Silent Street. I went there with Denethor and they carried Faramir there as well. I told you, of course..."

"You didn't. You skimmed over it this same way Legolas did with the Paths of the Dead yesterday. You thought I couldn't handle it."

"I thought no such thing, Merry. Do you accuse me of underestimating the strength of my fellow hobbit?"

"I do. I want the whole story from you, Pippin. No, never mind that. Don't tell me now. What I want is to see it for myself."

"To see...?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Merry, you're impossible," said Pippin, wondering why he'd thought to mention the Silent Street in the first place. "It's as far away again as we've gone already, and you've already walked entirely too much today."

"I swear, Pippin, if you try to put me to bed and keep these secret streets to yourself -- "

"That's fine then," Pippin agreed, not liking his cousin's tone, knowing he'd not win any arguments but wanting to stall. "We'll go, yes. But let's sit and rest here first."

Merry scowled at him. "I don't need to sit and rest," he said. "I told you I want -- "

"And I heard you, love, but there's no need to rush things."

He gestured to the woman at the window to make sure it was all right to rest in this particular place, and she said she and her family would be honored, and wouldn't they like to come in and have something to eat, and while Pippin attempted to negotiate (no food was needed, but a spot of tea wouldn't do ill) Merry hissed at him, "Pippin, if you're trying to pamper me, I'll not have it. Two weeks after Weathertop, you said it yourself."

"Well, that was what he had to do to get to Rivendell and have someone take good care of him, of course. You've only to get back to the Houses of Healing."

"I'm not going to lie in bed and do nothing."

"No, of course not," Pippin said mildly, settling down on the same stoop where he'd seen Merry come apart not two days ago, and opening up his pack. "We're all very strong and brave and heroic, I'm not arguing with that. But the truth is I'm getting a little tired of you ordering me around. _I'd_ rather sit for a while and have a pipe than start back through the maze and up the mountain just yet."

And Merry stared at him distrustfully for another moment before grumbling, "Well, put it that way," and sitting down next to him on the step.

Their hostess brought out sweet honey cakes with the tea, and they made a nice complement to the healthier things they'd brought down with them. Pippin made polite conversation with her, while Merry looked distracted and distant. _It's all stalling, really_, Pippin thought. _There's no use trying to keep anything from him. We're all very strong and brave and heroic, but I'd rather not lay everything on him at once._

* * *

Merry was both frustrated and relieved to realize that Pippin was leading him not directly to the Silent Street but back to the Houses of Healing, where after partaking of an excellent luncheon Merry was more or less forced to lie down in bed, be fussed over some more by the Healers, and pretend to sleep for an hour in Pippin's arms.

Well, he began by pretending, as he didn't really believe he could sleep, between the revelations of the morning and thoughts of what lay ahead in the afternoon, and the ever present worry for Frodo and Sam, wherever they might be now... And yet the bed was quite soft and warm, and so was Pippin's breath on his neck. And the feel of Pippin's arms wrapped around and protecting him, well, it wasn't familiar yet, and yet it was comforting, and it was good.

And Sam, Merry thought, for all that he was younger and knew less of the world than Frodo, Sam would do that for Frodo. He would hold him and protect him and bring him back safe. It was a lovely thought to allow himself for a few minutes, even if he couldn't quite believe it.

Merry was surprised to wake at all, since he hadn't intended to sleep, and surprised to wake alone in the bed. He heard low voices and realized that Pippin was standing in the corridor, just outside the doorway, and speaking with Gimli and probably Legolas. He could not make out the Dwarf's low tones but he did hear Pippin say, "No, don't worry, I'll tell him."

Merry knew that him was _him_, that they were keeping secrets, shielding him again. He tried not to feel angry. Not to worry, Pippin would tell him. It wouldn't do him any good anyway. Not wanting to eavesdrop anymore, Merry spoke up. "Pippin, are you keeping our friends away? I'm awake, you know. You needn't keep them from me." _You needn't keep the truth from me, whatever it is._

The Healers were somewhat scandalized to learn that Merry wanted to make a second outing on the same day, and that was without even telling them that they intended to visit the tombs of the kings. It was a help to have Legolas and Gimli there to support them, Legolas with his calm and Gimli with his tenacity. They promised not to let any harm come to the Halflings in the city. The Healers said not to let Merry overextend himself, and there were solemn nods all around.

"Don't be so difficult about it all, Merry," Pippin chided him as they made their way back out of the Houses of Healing, taking a different direction this time, round to the west side of the same level, rather than passing down through the gates. "They're only doing their job and what they think is best for you. And don't think they're being strict with you just because you're small. Why, Aragorn himself told them not to let Éowyn go out for ten days at least, and we both know there's few humans tougher than she."

"It's all right, Pip," said Merry, "I'm not complaining." And he did not admit that he had inwardly been sulking about all the restrictions and, yes, thinking that very thing, that the others would doubt his strength because of his size.

They had already told Legolas and Gimli most of what they could stand to tell, and heard what Legolas and Gimli cared to share of their own story. Speculations on the future, which to Merry still felt like doom, were not really tolerable. So the hobbits listened as Gimli critiqued the stonework of this part of the city, and Legolas hummed quietly to himself.

But when they reached the Closed Door, Gimli turned away. "I would go were it ordered by the King, or were it to aid one of you," he said to the hobbits. "But I prefer not to look at death again so soon. I would stay here, if you hobbits do not demand my company."

"That's all right," said Merry, surprised and suddenly uneasy. Was it such a strange thing they were doing, that someone as bold as Gimli would hesitate to go with them?

"Then I shall stay here as well," said Legolas, "unless you have need of me."

"I think it's best that way, after all," said Pippin. "Merry's the one who really wanted to see, and I've been here before so I'll go with him, but it's probably better with just the two of us there."

Pippin most likely was already expecting that Merry would fall apart, and wanted to spare him the embarrassment of weeping in front of Legolas and Gimli. And Merry was touched that Pippin would want to give him the privacy, but at the same time felt Pippin was underestimating him. As they passed through the door he steeled himself, resolved to surprise his cousin. After all, nothing was actually going to happen to them. They were only going for a walk, and to have a conversation.

The man who was guarding the door was a Guard of the Citadel, and Pippin was known to him, although the others were not. He was only supposed to open the door for the Lord of the City. But it was not known then just who the Lord of the City was or would be, and it _was_ known to the Guard that without Pippin's and Gandalf's help Faramir would have burned on the pyre, and the line of the Stewards would have been ended. It was not, then, difficult for Pippin to convince him that he and Merry should be allowed to go through, and to go alone.

It was a long, winding, and lonely path down into the shadow of the mountain. For the Houses of the Dead were as far down again as the fourth level of the city, where they had gone in the morning. And Merry felt sure that even Pippin would not suggest they stop to rest and have a smoke or a bite to eat in such a place. They'd left behind Legolas' music and Gimli's musings, and the two hobbits walked in silence.

There was a chill air here, it seemed to Merry, that had nothing to do with the fact that they stood low in the shadow of the mountain and not in the light of the south side of Minas Tirith. It didn't seem possible that he was in the same city or even the same country as the garden where he'd sat with his friends, where he really had felt the warmth of the sun and the hope of victory. It was very difficult to feel any hope in this place. The chill became worse as they descended, and Merry soon began to feel a stronger chill and a pain in his injured arm than he had since waking in the Houses of Healing two days ago. And that familiar mist began to come before his eyes.

He stumbled slightly as they reached level ground again, but Pippin caught him and squeezed him briefly, warmly, and helped him wrap that Elvish cloak tighter around himself.

"This is the street then," said Pippin. "The Silent Street, as they call it. And all these buildings around, they call them houses, but they're really the tombs of the kings of Gondor." Merry nodded, and made to take a step forward, but Pippin stopped him, and said, "I think you feel it again now. I think you've seen enough to know that this is where you were the other night, or where your spirit was at any rate. It makes no sense to me but I see it in the way you look and the way you walk, and I'd rather not see any more of it. Let us go back now, and later we may ask Gandalf how this could be. But let's not go among the tombs again."

"I'm not afraid, Pippin," Merry said gravely.

"No, you're not afraid of the dead and you've no reason to be, and I'm not either, but I'm afraid of the change I see in you, Merry. I mean this, we shouldn't go on. Not today."

Merry did not say what he was feeling, that if they did not walk the Silent Street today they might not have another chance, for he had very little idea of what would happen to either of them tomorrow. Instead he simply walked forward, pushed through the pressure with which Pippin tried to hold him back. And Pippin, reluctantly, followed him along the way between the tombs.

Merry had never seen the like of them, though if he had to compare them to something in his experience it would be the Dwarves' city in Moria, Dwarrowdelf, he recalled. It had had this grand look, these tall columns, and a similar feeling of chill and dread, though in Moria the air had seemed to press down upon them, while here the air was thin and made them feel exposed and vulnerable. The largest of the tombs lay directly in front of them, and Merry had at first felt drawn to it, but before they reached the steps he felt a strange urge to turn and go into the house on their left.

"I remember this," said Merry. "This is where the others walked ahead and I took a turn."

"That's the House of the Stewards," said Pippin. "That's where Denethor had them bring Faramir."

"Show me, Pippin, please."

Pippin looked pained. "Must you look, Merry?" he said. And again, Merry simply walked ahead, rather than argue, and Pippin moved to follow him rather than remain alone.

"I was afraid," said Pippin, once they stood together inside the great hall, "that it might still smell as it did."

"It still smells of smoke," said Merry, not daring to say what he felt, that it smelt of burnt flesh.

"Ah, but so does the whole city," said Pippin. "And here it's nothing like it was. Of course they gathered the ashes together just after it happened. In this urn, see?" The urn was sitting atop a large, stone table in the center of the hall. It looked strange, out of place, even as everything here looked strange to Merry's eyes. "And then there was the rain," Pippin continued "and there's been this wind."

"But at the time -- ?" Merry asked, attempting and failing to imagine what it must have been for Pippin to see the man burn.

"Oh, Merry, it was horrible."

Pippin's voice was trembling just a little and so was his body, and as Merry hugged him and soothed him he thought, really, this felt more familiar and right than anything he'd done in weeks. He hated to know that Pippin was distressed, but he wanted to be the one to make him feel better, as he had been all his life.

"It's all right," Merry said. "I'm here now, I'll not let anything happen to you." It mattered little to him that he did not really believe this, did not believe he could protect Pippin from anything anymore. There was something about the ritual of comforting Pippin that was, well, comforting for Merry himself as well. And Pippin stilled in his arms, and nodded and thanked him. And very gently pulled away, and stood on his own. Then Merry shivered and felt lost again.

"Where did it happen," Merry asked, "on this same table here?"

"Yes. He and Faramir were lying here together, and they had wood piled up around it, and oil poured on top of them. You can still smell that a little too, you can see the smudges on parts of the table." Pippin took a breath. "When Gandalf came though, he bore Faramir away, and it was only the father who burned in the end."

Merry had seen Faramir only briefly, for he was not yet able to rise from bed, and the Healers seemed especially keen to keep him from speaking with Pippin. He'd seen some resemblance with Boromir and wished to have a chance to get a better look at him, and wished he had had a chance to know Denethor, if only to have a better idea of the confusion and pain Pippin had suffered in his service. He looked around at the many stone coffins ordered in rows and filling the large hall, each with a likeness of its occupant carved in a darker sort of marble and lying on top. The images of the same men were painted on the walls as well. And Merry hadn't thought he would fear the dead so, but having them look on him and Pippin as they did, as if the living were intruders, as if their speech and their very presence were an affront, made him want to depart already, even though he'd practically forced Pippin to come back here. The fear he felt when he looked at them made him wonder that Pippin and Gandalf and Beregond had had such presence of mind as to act as they did, in the hour when it most mattered.

Merry continued to gaze at the faces of the dead, and he wondered how much Denethor resembled any of these ancestors, and how much he resembled his sons. He wondered whether other artists would be asked to carve and to paint Denethor's own image, or if there would even be a need. For again, he thought, who knew what might come to pass tomorrow, or the next day?

"That's not how they do things here though, is it?" Merry said suddenly. "I thought these other tombs, these places where the statues are lying -- "

"No, you're right, of course. Usually the kings and the stewards are embalmed after they die, and laid in these stone coffins, and those laid in the tombs. But Denethor said all the city was burning and that he and Faramir would burn with it. He said that was how the heathen kings used to do it."

"I think," said Merry, "that the men of Gondor think the men of Rohan somewhat less civilized. But really I think this is no way to take care of the dead, whether it's stewards or kings or common people. I wouldn't want to be sealed up in a tomb like this, and no one allowed to come and see, or to pay their respects. It doesn't seem right. And I don't think King Théoden would either."

"Did... Did you want to see his body then?" Pippin asked hesitantly.

"What?" said Merry. "You don't mean..." But of course, of course they would have brought him here. "Where, do you know?"

"Yes, Gimli found out for me. It's in the last of the houses, at the very end of the street. But don't go, Merry, it will only pain you."

And Merry saw nothing around him and even ceased to feel the cold in his body as he ran from one house to the other, and came to stop before a similar table, where Théoden's body had been laid. Merry hadn't expected to see it again. He'd been separated, lost, thought he'd lost the king forever as well. Merry stared, and when Pippin huffed along and took his hand all Merry could think to say at first was, "He looks so strange."

Pippin told him the embalmers had tended to the body.

"In Rohan," Merry said, "the kings are laid in little houses of stone, and then each tomb is covered over with earth, and grass and flowers grow above it. I like that better, I think, that return to the earth. It's closer to what the common people do, and what we do at home. I like it better than the thought of him lying here in this stone city, trapped, like. He told me... He told me he was going to his fathers. I don't know... I suppose it's silly to worry he won't be able to find them from here?"

"I don't believe they're planning to entomb him here," said Pippin. "After all of this is over, they shall carry his body back to his own country, and he can be buried among his ancestors, and with his son."

"That is for the best, then," said Merry, breathing a little more easily.

"And you and I shall go with them, I think. So you can say him farewell then, and not imagine him having to remain here."

"I hope that we may go with them," said Merry.

"Did you see him die?" Pippin asked.

Merry nodded, realizing his resolve had been for naught, hating the way tears came to his eyes so easily these days. "He spoke to me."

"Yes, you said he'd wanted to smoke with you, and talk of herb-lore."

"I told you that?"

"Yes, dear, just after Strider brought you back to us."

"He wanted to see Éowyn, and I wanted to tell him she was there, though I didn't know then that she still lived, but there wasn't -- " Merry felt his voice break, then went on speaking anyway, even through the sob, " -- there wasn't time."

Pippin was patting his back. "That's all right, Merry. You only had a little time with him, but you served him well, and he was pleased with you. That's something to be proud of."

Merry nodded.

"Denethor didn't..." said Pippin. "I mean, he sent me away, before he came here. He didn't want me to interfere."

"You only did what was right. You know that, don't you, Pippin?"

"I do," Pippin answered quickly. "He was mad, of course, I understand that. Gandalf said he'd... I'm glad I did what I did. Still, I couldn't help feeling I'd failed. I'd sworn an oath to serve him, hadn't I?"

"To serve him even to the point of murdering his son?" Merry said quietly.

"What was it, after all?" Pippin wondered, seeming to search for words in his mind. "I'd be loyal to him and to Gondor 'until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end.'"

And how strange, Merry thought, for how certain he'd been that the world was ending then. And after all mightn't it end at any time? What was the use of any oath then?

But Pippin continued thoughtfully, "Well, he did release me from his service before we even came here. At least he tried to, though I was somewhat -- well, _you_ might say I was somewhat 'impertinent' about that."

"There you are, nothing for you to be sorry about," said Merry. "You stopped serving the man himself and you did what was right for Gondor and, well, just plain what was right. Sam would be proud of you."

Pippin chuckled a little. "That's right," he said. "Good plain hobbit sense, he'll say. I do think he'll like to hear that story when we see him again. And to hear about you and 'Dernhelm' and the Black Rider as well."

They were doing it again, Merry realized. Or Pippin was doing it again, and Merry found that he no longer could. He could not say _when we see Sam again_ or _when Frodo finds out_, for he simply could not be sure that such a thing ever would come to pass.

Then for the first time he looked away from Théoden to see the other tombs that filled this hall, which was even larger and statelier and more desolate than the last. The faces of these kings, too, were even more stern than those of the stewards. He realized with a start that these must be Aragorn's ancestors.

The images were simple, of kings on their thrones or kings standing still, and were not like the paintings at Rivendell, which depicted the stories of battles lost and wills weakened. Still, Merry couldn't help thinking of the failures of these men, or thinking that all this grandeur belonged to an age long past. What hope was there of bringing such a city to life again, after all the things that had gone wrong over so many centuries, and all the things that had gone worse since the beginning of the hobbits' journey?

Still the fallen kings seemed to stare at Merry. _They want to take us with them_, he thought. _They want to keep us here._

To Pippin he said, "I need to get out of this city. I need to get out of here."

And Pippin looked frightened, but said, "Well then, we'll get you out of the Hallows right now. See, let's get on our way, back down the street, up toward the path."

And there was something troubling in this response, but Merry wasn't sure what it was. He tried to follow Pippin, but the mist was nearly blinding. And when he tried to look ahead all he could see were the eyes of the fallen kings, grave, silent, pitiless.

What made him think he was stronger than they? What made him think he could escape, if all of these great men were destined to remain in these houses forever? Merry felt a weakness in his knees then, and before he knew what was happening he was on the ground (and it was made of marble, and hard, and the fall brought him more pain). He was lying among the tombs, and it was no use trying to get away. His back pained him and so did his arm, and he realized that Pippin was shouting through the silence but Merry didn't bother to listen for the words. They would bury him after all then.

"I knew," Merry breathed.

"What is it, Merry?" The words penetrated through the haze

"You found me only so you could bring me here and leave me."

"Don't be absurd, cousin." That was Pippin trying to sound cheerful, as before, but Merry heard the lie in it. "We're going to bring you back to the Houses of Healing."

_And there we shall leave you_. That was what was missing, Merry understood clearly. That was what was wrong before too. Merry had said he needed to leave the city, and Pippin hadn't had the heart to tell him it wasn't allowed.

"Can you stand up, Merry? Can you walk with me?"

Merry found he could not, and that he felt no desire to do it. To be abandoned to death in the Houses of Healing or the Houses of the Dead, what was the difference, really? He could see nothing but thought Pippin must be nearby still, must be waiting for an answer, so he shook his head. No.

Then Merry was being lifted up, and carried, and he blinked to see that he was in Legolas' arms. And this made no sense. For how could Legolas have come so soon? How much time had passed since Pippin had cried out? And how could anyone have heard, from so far away?

They would lay him on the pyre, he thought suddenly. Pippin had done his best but it was too late now. They'd lay him on the pyre and he'd burn like Denethor. For hadn't Pippin sworn, and hadn't Pippin tried to protect Denethor? And that had ended in fire, in the stench that Merry could still smell. He twisted and squirmed and tried to get away.

"I'll not die as he did," Merry said, "I'll not burn."

And Legolas, rather than hold him tighter, loosened his hold in a way that made his struggling even more useless, and knelt low so that Merry could feel his feet hit the ground, still kicking.

Then Pippin too was hugging him and it was only when Merry heard Pippin begin to cry that he came back to himself. He wanted to tell Pippin that everything would be all right, but he realized he simply couldn't tell it for a lie. And he wanted to get up and walk away, but he truly did not have the strength.

So he suffered the Elf to carry him away from the gaze of the dead and back down along the Silent Street. At first Pippin was very attentive to him as they walked, was smoothing the hair from his forehead and murmuring encouraging words, till Merry muttered, "Quit it, Pippin, I've been as protected as I can stand, for today at least. If you won't let me walk then at least let me be in peace." He knew as he said it that it was really unfair, but he couldn't bring himself to feel much pity or regret.

As they climbed the empty, twisting road, Merry felt that the spirits of the dead were reluctant to let them go. Even as he was carried, he felt a resentful pull at his hanging limbs, a resistance in the atmosphere. After they passed out of the Closed Door Legolas asked if Merry would like him to sing, and Merry shook his head, and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the looks of the strangers as they passed through the streets.

By the time they reached the Houses of Healing Merry had recovered enough strength that he was able to convince the others to let him walk, not to let the Healers know he'd been brought to the point of collapse. They must trust him to be docile on his own, get the rest he needed without having everyone fuss over him. As they passed the outside the house Merry could see that Éowyn had risen from her bed, and stood at the window between her own room and the garden. _She must wish to go out,_ he thought, _she must wish to keep fighting. She will never yet surrender to death._

When they reached Merry's room he thanked his friends and kissed them, knowing, without being told, that he was not only saying good night but goodbye.

There was more food, probably good food, though Merry ate without tasting much and guessed it was probably the same with Pippin. Both were quiet, and a silence that would have felt companionable yesterday was now tense, and loud with words unspoken.

Basins of warm water were brought to the room, and Pippin removed Merry's shirt, crushed the _athelas_ and bathed and massaged Merry's arm himself. "Is this all right?" he asked. And Merry nodded, not trusting himself to speak, for the warmth of water and hands on his numb arm was wonderful enough to make him want to sob.

Yet all the time he felt cold, and the silence felt more like a threat than a shelter. And finally, after the sun had set and the two of them had been left alone for the night, Merry decided to take the words he'd been afraid to hear, and spoke them himself. "You're going off to fight with them. That was what the three of you were speaking of while I was sleeping."

"Did you hear us, Merry?"

He shook his head. "I knew, that's all. You're leaving me here, yes?"

"It's too soon for you to go back to battle, Merry. You've had no time to recover."

"How soon are you going?"

"In the morning."

And that was a shock. For he'd been afraid and imagined many terrible things, but he hadn't thought he'd be left alone again so soon. Merry stood up to try to walk away the tension, while Pippin remained sitting on the bed.

"Tomorrow morning?" Merry said, feeling ridiculous for it; if Pippin had meant any other morning he would have said so. "And you were going to tell me when, exactly?"

"Tonight, love."

"And will you stay here again tonight, or are you already off to join the army."

"Of course I'll stay with you."

"And leave me in the morning."

"It's not... It's not that I _want_ to go, Merry. It's not as if I'm eager to be off an another adventure. We have to do it, for Frodo. Everyone who's able."

"I'm able," said Merry.

"You're not, dear. You know you're not."

"I've come this far, haven't I?" _Two weeks after Weathertop_, he thought again.

"Merry, stop it. You're acting like Frodo."

"This is meant to be a criticism?" Merry said, arching his eyebrows.

"I don't mean you're acting like the noblest soul in Middle-earth," Pippin said with a sigh. "I mean you're being stubborn and proud and refusing to let your loved ones take care of you. It's even more maddening with you than it is with him, because you've been on the other side of it. You've tried to convince Frodo to be sensible and lie down and rest as many times as I have, now just do the sensible thing yourself, will you?"

"You don't get to order me around, Pippin."

"I do when you go and injure yourself and then pretend nothing is wrong."

"You're the one pretending nothing is wrong," said Merry.

Pippin didn't answer at first. He closed his eyes, seemed to take a calming breath so that his answer wouldn't echo Merry's own anger. "If you mean me saying that I'm not going to bury you and you're not going to bury me, that's not pretending, Merry. That's nothing more than the truth."

"You can't know that!" Merry realized then that he was shouting. That he was standing in the middle of the room, fists clenched, barely breathing.

And Pippin, very slowly, moved toward him and laid a hand on his shoulder, a kiss by his cheek, and whispered in his ear, "But I do, Merry."

Merry shook his head, heard his voice break on the words "You can't possibly."

"Come to bed, dear."

But Merry didn't move. "Boromir, Denethor, Théoden. You can't tell me this story is going to have a happy ending for all of us."

"For the four of us, yes, it will."

"What do you believe Frodo and Sam are going to do, Pippin? Do you honestly think they'll just stroll across darkest Mordor and up the mountain and drop the thing in the fire? Do you remember what it was like with the Orcs? Mordor is crawling with those things, you know."

"I remember, and I know."

"So quit telling me that everything's going to be fine!" Merry was shaking in Pippin's arms now, but still would not return the touch, could not accept the tenderness and assurance of it.

"But I have to believe it, Merry. I have to believe they're going to be all right. What would we do otherwise? Just lie down and wait for the end?"

"That's what you'd have me do," said Merry, "lie back and wait while the rest of you ride off to your deaths."

"Come, you're talking like one of these grim old Men. Théoden didn't believe our friends would return from the Paths of the Dead, and yet we've spoken with them today. And Denethor thought Faramir was lost, and his despair nearly killed him. But he was wrong, Merry, they were both wrong. They should have thought more like hobbits. They should have been thinking like you, back at Crickhollow, when Frodo said he'd be flying from deadly peril into deadly peril, and you said you knew that and you still wanted to go with him."

"Because I was a fool then, if I thought I could do anything to help him."

"But you have, Merry, don't you see that? If you hadn't stabbed the Black Captain there's no telling how the battle might have gone. And no matter how bad things get I have to believe they're happening for a reason, and they're helping Frodo get to where he needs to be. Why, Gandalf told me perhaps even my looking in the palantír could have helped, could have taken Sauron's eye away from what's happening in his own country. And that's what we're going to do in the next battle as well. You were brave in the last one, Merry, but you must stay here now and let me go and fight in the next."

"I'll not lie back and wait," said Merry. "If we must die, Pippin, I want us to die together."

"Please don't talk like that, my dear Merry."

And Merry could hear how close Pippin was to tears, yet he felt if he allowed himself to feel pity then he would break down completely. "If I can't -- " Merry found he was too angry to finish his thought, and he could no longer stand having Pippin's arms around him. He pushed him away, then pushed him back against the bed, so that Pippin lost his footing and fell back. "Lie back, that's it," Merry said, and pushed some more, till Pippin was lying flat on the bed and Merry had climbed up over him. And pushed some more.

"Not like this, Merry." But his voice was gentle, his body soft and yielding as ever. Patient, indulgent. And Merry did not want to be gentled.

"If you want me to stop, then make me."

It was madness, he knew it must be madness. But he felt a desperate need to fight something, anything, any way he could. And if he wasn't to be allowed his chance against the real enemy, well then.

Merry was lost, impatient, impractical. He'd not thought to get rid of Pippin's clothes before pushing him against the bed, and couldn't be bothered now. He wanted, needed pressure, and could think of little else. He ground down against Pippin once, and again.

"Fine then." Pippin was pinned and yet, being Pippin, was agile enough to twist underneath him, to open up his shirt, if not to remove it completely. To push his own trousers and then Merry's just far enough, just low enough, that Merry could reach whatever he wanted to.

There wasn't any question of hurting him. Merry forced a knee in between Pippin's thighs just for the feel of it, and his hands pressed down hard on Pippin's shoulders, but all the real feeling in him was in one place, and it was not causing Pippin any pain, he was quite sure. It was skin against skin, hardness against hardness, awkward but harmless. Then Pippin kissed his mouth, and their tongues coiled and struggled, hot and wet, and when it ended Pippin wet one hand and used it to take hold of both their cocks and to slide along the length of them. And after a few more irregular jerks a rhythm came into it that was, to Merry's confused mind, more frustrating for its smoothness. And yet for all Pippin's cooperation and calm it felt, still, like an argument, like a battle, like a hopeless attempt to take this mad panic to the end of the world and be rid of it.

And that was all Frodo was trying to do, Merry thought, completely understandable. No use being angry at Frodo. Frodo had left him again at Parth Galen, as he'd tried to leave him so many times before. And even if Frodo did live through this he'd still go off and leave him again. There was no holding onto Frodo.

And Merry's body was all nerves, and even as he gripped Pippin's shoulders and even as he thrilled to the friction of all their bodies moving together, he felt he could not possibly get close enough.

No use holding onto Frodo, but Pippin, Pippin was here beneath him and moaning, and Merry would keep Pippin here for himself. Why was Pippin even trying to leave him? It was not through Pippin's own foolishness, as it had been the last time, not because Gandalf commanded it or took him away. It was Pippin's willfulness, his _choosing_ to go off and fight. _And he doesn't think me strong enough_, Merry thought, _and he's right_.

And even as the pressure built up inside him and between them Merry felt weak and weary, lost and alone. _What if they all leave me and never come back? What if I'm left alone in this dead city, a ghost wandering among the tombs?_

Then at once all the tension and fear spilled out of him along with his semen, and Merry cried out with the loss and pain of it, while the sound of Pippin's own release a few moments later was little more than a sigh. And Merry rolled away, to lie next to Pippin on his back, gasping for air.

After a very short time, Pippin whispered, "Frodo and Sam are alive, Merry. You know that, don't you?" Merry nodded, unable to speak, and Pippin turned toward him on his side, to bring their bodies together again without pressure, without weight, with only warmth and affection. "We'll see them again, very soon. I'm quite sure of this. And we'll see each other again, Merry. This isn't the end."

Pippin, dear Pippin, always did have this maddening ability to recover from orgasm as if it were nothing more shattering than a good sneeze. No wonder he didn't fear death.

"I know" was all Merry could manage, and barely articulated at that. A breath. But Pippin would understand. It stood for _I was wrong_ and _I'm sorry_ and _I love you more than life_, and Pippin would understand.

Pippin, with intermittent kisses up Merry's side, his neck, his face, went on talking. "I still like having you look after me, you know. I never feel quite right when you're not with me. You know I wouldn't go if I weren't quite sure you'd find me again."

"I know."

They lay together for a while, and then Pippin got up and wet a cloth in the basin of clean water, and came back to get them clean. He brought a nightshirt for each of them and warm blankets for both of them to nestle under together. Merry wasn't sure if he felt more like a coddled child or a weary old man, but he didn't protest. Pippin held him and Merry clung back tightly, but Pippin spoke softly in his ear and Merry slowly relaxed his grip, and then relaxed altogether, and let his dear cousin coax him into sleep.

* * *

In the restless, fearful days that followed, and in the months full of joy and hope and forgiveness that came later, Merry would always remember that night with shame. No matter how many times Pippin said he forgave him, no matter how many times they made love.

It was only years later, on a lovely spring day at Crickhollow, that Pippin confessed he too had doubted and even despaired (and Gandalf himself had said there'd never been more than a fool's hope, and at the Black Gate Pippin had wished he might have died together with Merry after all). And both of them wept, but then both of them laughed, and said they'd both been fools, not for holding onto their hope but for letting go of it. And Merry said he wished he'd known before, and he wouldn't always have felt like the one wet blanket of the Fellowship. But really they both knew Pippin had been right to try to put the best face on things. If both of them were afraid they'd not see each other again, Pippin at least wanted their last days together to be full of sunshine and cheer.

Years later, Pippin would forgive him once again, and Merry would finally forgive himself. But on the morning of the eighteenth, as he watched Pippin march off toward Mordor with the soldiers of Gondor and Rohan, all the Host of the West, it seemed to Merry that everyone else was brave but foolish. Merry alone was weak and cowardly, and Merry alone understood how hopeless it all was. And Merry was hopelessly alone.


End file.
